THE CRAZY GOOD SERIES - Rachel Robinson Page 0,302

as I swallow. I can only formulate three words. “Good. Let’s go.”

So we do.

_______________

The Hamptons are just how I remembered them. Sunny, beachy, a little bit Cape Cod on steroids. I haven’t been here for years and years. Since I went with Cody. It’s another place his death marred that I can now have back. I thought Dax would give me a new lease on life. Now I realize it wouldn’t have been the life I craved. It would have been his version of perfect, not mine. I sense Cody glancing at me as I stare out the window, smiling when we pass something nostalgic as we drive. A car met us at the airport and I’m officially curious about Cody’s financial status. I make very good money with my interior design business, but the bulk of my financial success is due to good ole’ Uncle Rostov and my bottomless trust fund. I’m an only niece to a Russian man with no children. This isn’t information I’d ante up for just anyone. There’s a handful of people who truly know the extent of my wealth and that’s only because they were smart enough to dig around. Cody’s always lived on a Navy SEALs salary, which is more than the average sailor, but still, it’s government work. Now that he’s a contractor, and serious into his coding, doing heaven knows what for money, I wonder what he makes.

His hand, warm and big, engulfs the skin just above my knee. “What’s on your mind?” he asks.

The past. The beach. Your paycheck. Your dick. “Nothing. I haven’t been here in a while. Which house did you rent?” We had a few houses in rotation when we would frequent here back in the day—all of them large and on the beach, with the weathered brown shingles that deem it vacation time. I glance at him and my heart skips a beat. I’ll never get used to seeing him. I bite my lip and his gaze darts down to the movement. He bites his lip in return. I smile.

“It’s one we haven’t been to before. It’s new, actually. It’s called Dances like the Wind.” Playfully I swat the hand on my knee.

I roll my eyes. “Ha-Ha.”

He raises his brows. “Scout’s honor. That’s the name.” He only says that when he’s being dead serious. It’s an oxymoron of the best kind. My skin breaks out into a sheen of sweat and I feel my pulse kick into high drive. “I like New York for more than one reason, Fast Lane.”

“You bought a house here?” My voice squeaks. Taking my chin into his hand, he turns my face toward him. “And you named it a stupid name!” I exclaim. He laughs, the baritone sound filling the car like a shot of testosterone.

He brushes a strand of hair out of my eye. “I acquired it a while ago. I just named it recently,” he explains. I suck in a deep breath. Okay. I can’t deal with this. I should be happy. I have too many loose ends to be happy. Or do I? These days spent with him can be happy. I’ll do my best to forget that I have to go back to a reality world that is complicated as fuck.

“How much do you get paid for popping people?” I ask. It comes out of my mouth like a nosey teenager.

He laughs. “Pop people? I gather intel about bad people. You’d be surprised how much people would pay for good information.” He looks away. “Most people would pay far more than money for what I give them.”

“Oh?” I ask.

Blindly, he grabs my hand on the seat next to him and squeezes it. “Sometimes we catch the assholes and make them pay for what they’ve done. It’s quite lucrative. But you’re wondering about how I can afford my new lifestyle,” he says matter-of-factly.

I squeeze his hand back. “I mean, I’m sure you could have crowd funded a new life. You were dead, after all. Strangers would have made you a very rich man. Donated their life savings. Your face was all over the news for weeks.” I laugh, trying to make light of my ignorant question. I can’t hide the fact that I’m curious, though. He’d read through the lines anyways.

He nods. “You forget where my true talents lie.” It’s not supposed to, but his words send a shockwave of wetness directly to my core. I want his talent so deep inside me it can’t find the way